


A Different Kind of Flying

by athousandelegies



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Airplane, Caution: excessive handholding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandelegies/pseuds/athousandelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale is hesitant to fly in a plane; Crowley does his best to reassure him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Flying

_This is just a drabble, I suppose. Well, it's too long to be considered that, but what I mean is it's just a plotless bit of fluff that I thought up while flying. Sigh, yes, I know Azi and Crowley are pretty out of character in this; I was just in the mood for some really sappy mushy goodness._

_Where are Aziraphale and Crowley heading? I'll let you imagine that up. Perhaps their respective superiors contacted them telling them to get their holy/demonic arses over to America for one reason or another, let's say. That's not important; none of this is important, just a bit of mush I couldn't resist writing up._

* * *

"Oh, come on, angel, it's just like flying with wings, but in an enclosed space. Safer, if you think about it. And a lot less windy."

"Are you sure we have to get there in this manner?" Aziraphale whined, trying to keep genuine fear out of his voice. "I don't mind flying the old-fashioned way, or—or taking a ship—"

"We're supposed to get there fast, remember?" Crowley interrupted him. "A ship'll take weeks, and," he continued, poking at the pudge around his companion's stomach, "I don't think you're in good enough shape to zoom across the Atlantic without multiple stops. A plane's the fastest way."

Aziraphale huffed at the suggestion that he was out of shape, but didn't deny it.

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "Let's get this over with, then."

As they reached the gate and boarded the plane, the angel's agitation grew more and more apparent. They took their seats in first class, and Crowley noticed his counterpart was having difficulty getting his seatbelt buckled.

"Are your hands shaking, angel?" he asked curiously. "Wow, I haven't seen you this worked up since that time Gabriel told you he'd be paying you a visit."

"Shut up," Aziraphale said brusquely, causing the demon to realize that he should be treading lightly, "and help me with this, will you?"

"Sure, Aziraphale, sure," Crowley responded, switching to his most soothing tone. "Hey, it's going to be all right, you know that? We'll land safe and sound in just a few hours."

He reached over to assist Aziraphale with the seatbelt. Shaking off his sudden awareness of his extreme proximity to the angel, he continued hastily, "I still can't believe you've never flown in a plane before, Az. —There you are," he added as the buckle latched on, and retracted his hands. "Humans have been flying these things for the greater part of the century. I admit they were pretty flimsy at first, but now all the hitches have been more or less worked out. They say flying is safer than crossing the street."

"I don't believe that," Aziraphale replied testily. "And I haven't taken a plane before because God gave me perfectly usable wings, thank you very much."

Crowley grinned embarrassedly at the flight attendant passing by at that moment, who'd done a double take at Aziraphale's strange words.

"Yeah, okay," he conceded, "but do your wings come with comfortable seats and food service?"

Just then, the flight attendants began their safety information speech, and the plane began inching its way forward. Crowley jumped as Aziraphale suddenly seized his arm.

" _Hell_ , Az, what's with the death grip?"

"Are we taking off?" the angel asked, no longer concealing the panic in his voice.

Crowley sighed. "No. We're just taxiing right now. But takeoff's in a minute."

The angel's face was deathly white.

"Aziraphale, really, what's the big deal? Even if we did crash, we'd just be discorporated."

"Not a very pleasant way to be discorporated," Aziraphale griped.

"No," Crowley agreed, "I suppose not. But we are _not_ going to crash. I promise."

"Oh, a promise from a demon, _now_ I feel better," Aziraphale snapped. Crowley did his best not to let the remark sting; he knew his counterpart was simply scared.

The plane's velocity increased, and suddenly it was lifting off into the air.

"Bugger!" Aziraphale exclaimed, his grip on Crowley's arm tightening.

"Language, angel." Crowley looked into his friend's face. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. Crowley felt the stirrings of sympathy in his gut; the poor bastard was terrified.

Crowley reached for the hand currently strangling the feeling out of his arm, and gently pried the manicured fingers from his sleeve. Uncertainly, he wrapped his fingers around his counterpart's own, watching carefully for Azirphale's reaction. The angel didn't react, except to squeeze the demon's hand, hard.

Crowley stretched out his other arm and settled it protectively around the angel's shoulders. Aziraphale leaned into the contact, and his grip on Crowley's hand relaxed somewhat.

"We're not gonna bloody crash, you stupid angel," Crowley murmured.

The plane reached its peak height in the sky and leveled out. Crowley peered through the window at the earth stretched out below.

"Look, angel," he said softly. "If we flew this high, ice would freeze along our wings."

Aziraphale looked. "Oh," he said simply. "It looks rather different, doesn't it, without the wind blowing in your eyes."

"Not so bad after all, huh, Az? You can always trust me, you know."

A few hours later, after dinner had been served and the plane was far out over the ocean, the sun beginning its descent and staining the surrounding sky and clouds a rosy pink, Aziraphale was gazing out the window again.

Crowley's arm was still around him, and his head had come to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder. The demon was snoring gently, his eyes shut peacefully behind his sunglasses, which were slightly askew. His hair tickled Aziraphale's ear pleasantly.

The air so high above the sea was freezing, but neither the sleeping demon nor the pensive angel felt its chill within the plane's protective hull, sharing warmth between clasped hands.

The dying sun was fragmenting the water far below into prisms of blue and pink light. As Aziraphale watched night fall over the scene, he thought of Crowley's words: "You can always trust me, you know."

Yes, he could.

He was almost disappointed when the airplane landed, hours later, and he had to nudge Crowley awake to disembark.


End file.
